The morning light filtered into the Red Base through jagged holes in the broken roof. What was once a school assembly hall had been repurposed into a mess station. Survivors lined up with steel bowls and tin cups, the smell of watered-down porridge clinging to the air.
Ajay stood in line like the rest, bowl in hand, his posture hunched, eyes downcast. To anyone who looked, he was just another half-starved survivor grateful for a scoop of mush. But behind that hollow gaze, his mind ticked like a machine. Every shift of a guard's rifle, every barked command, every look of fear on the newcomers—he memorized it all.
He caught sight of Gyur, sitting alone near the wall. His porridge was untouched, his rifle resting across his lap even here, as if he couldn't let it go. The woman with the child ate quickly, eyes darting to every loud voice.
Arvin entered without fanfare. A clipboard tucked under his arm, glasses perched on his nose, his boots clicking sharp against the concrete. The murmurs in the mess hall stilled instantly. The air grew tight, heavy.
"Eat quickly," Arvin said, voice carrying like a whip crack. "After breakfast, You will get your assignments."
Jeet trailed behind him, the very opposite in demeanor—smiling, nodding, as though this were some pleasant morning gathering instead of a gathering of desperate survivors. He made eye contact with several in the hall, charming warmth radiating from him. If Arvin was the blade, Jeet was the honey that coated it.
Ajay lowered his head further and slurped his porridge, the bland, gluey taste hardly registering. Assignments..
Half an hour later, the survivors were herded into the courtyard. Patrols passed by, boots crunching gravel in precise rhythm. The air was dry, heavy with dust and the faint metallic tang of blood.
Arvin stood before them, clipboard in hand, voice flat and cold
"You were brought here because you lived when others died. That does not make you special. It makes you tools waiting to be sharpened. You'll receive jobs according to your current value. Work hard, stabilize your systems, and you may rise. Fail, and you're dead weight."
His eyes swept across the group, pinning each in turn. When his gaze fell on Ajay, it lingered for just a moment. Ajay made sure to look nervous, shifting uncomfortably as if already afraid of what job might be handed to him. Inside, though, he felt a flicker of anticipation.
Arvin called the first name.
"Gyur. Soldier background. Patrolling and scavenging detail. You'll join the outer teams starting today."
Gyur gave a curt nod. There was no protest in his posture, no surprise. He'd expected this.
"The woman—" Arvin glanced at his list. "Kitchen duty. Cleaning, preparation, food distribution. The child will remain in the dormitory during your shift. Any disobedience will result in rations cut."
The woman swallowed hard and nodded quickly, clutching the boy to her chest.
Then Arvin's eyes shifted again, landing on Ajay. "You. Porter detail. You'll accompany scavenger teams. Carry their loads, supplies, and equipment. No fighting. Just hauling."
A ripple of quiet snickers passed through some of the other survivors—scavengers treated porters as beasts of burden. Ajay dipped his head meekly, as though ashamed. But inwardly, he marked this assignment as a gift. A porter's eyes and ears went places others couldn't. He'd see their supply runs, hear their chatter, learn where the cracks in this Red Fang fortress lay.
Arvin scribbled on his clipboard, dismissing the group with a sharp flick of his pen. "You report to your respective supervisors within the hour. Any delays will be treated as disobedience."
As the survivors broke apart, Jeet drifted through them like a snake through tall grass. His smile never wavered, his tone light and conversational. He ignored most, moving straight toward Gyur.
"Soldier," Jeet said warmly, falling in step beside him. "Patrolling and scavenging, eh? Good fit. A man like you shouldn't waste his time hauling bags or stirring soup."
Gyur grunted, not slowing his stride. His eyes stayed fixed ahead.
Jeet chuckled, unfazed. "You've got discipline in your bones. I can see it. Men like you, they're rare. You don't bend, you don't break. That's exactly the kind of man the Red Fangs need—not just on scavenging duty, but in leadership."
Gyur finally stopped, turning slightly to face him. His jaw was tight, voice low. "I didn't come here to join your gang. I came here because it was either this place or rotting outside with the dead."
Jeet tilted his head, the smile never fading. "And now that you're here, do you really want to waste your talent walking the perimeter like some common grunt? Think bigger. You've seen how fragile the others are. They look to men like us for strength. You and I… we could do more than just follow orders."
Gyur's eyes narrowed. "I said no."
For a moment, Jeet's smile faltered—but only for a moment. Then he clapped Gyur lightly on the shoulder, his tone almost playful.
"Fair enough. Go do your job. Maybe when you get back, you'll see things differently. The Red Fangs aren't just a gang. We're the future army of this world. And every army needs its generals."
He walked away without waiting for a reply, humming softly as though the exchange hadn't mattered. But Ajay, watching from a distance, caught the flicker in Jeet's eyes as he left—cold, calculating. Jeet didn't handle rejection well.
Later, Ajay reported to the scavenger staging area. A half-collapsed storage shed had been repurposed as a gathering spot, where scavengers prepared gear, checked weapons, and assigned their porters.
There were five other porters waiting, each with the same gaunt, resigned look. They carried empty sacks, crates, or makeshift harnesses, waiting to be loaded down like mules.
One of them, a thin man with hollow cheeks and nervous eyes, shifted closer to Ajay. "First day?" he muttered, voice low so the guards wouldn't hear.
Ajay nodded. "Yeah."
The man gave a humorless laugh. "You'll learn quick. Porters are at the bottom. We carry until our backs break, and if we can't keep up, they leave us behind. No one cares."
Ajay kept his expression troubled, though inside he leaned forward mentally, drinking in every word. "Why stay, then?" he asked softly.
The man's gaze darted toward the guards before he whispered again. "Because out there is worse. At least here, you get a cot and a bowl of food. Out there? Its only a day to two but world had already change if we did not learn or adapt we'll die. The beasts, the dead, and worse—the other humans. I've seen scavenger teams kill rival groups just to steal their rations. Here, the Fangs at least… pretend to protect us."
He spat the last words bitterly, eyes lowering. "I should never have come. Thought I'd find safety here. Thought maybe… a chance at a new life. Instead, I traded one cage for another."
Ajay let silence hang for a moment, then spoke quietly. "What's your name?"
The man blinked, surprised at the question. "Kiran."
"Ajay," he replied simply.
A faint, tired smile flickered across Kiran's lips. "You'll see, Ajay. The Red Fangs aren't a haven. They're a machine. And we're the gears. Grind until we break."
Before Ajay could respond, a scavenger barked an order. "Porters! Line up! We move in five."
Ajay tightened his grip on the empty sack slung over his shoulder, his face settling into meek obedience once more. But his thoughts churned.
Kiran was right—this was a machine. But machines had weak points. And Ajay was already looking for them.
The scavenger team assembled at the gate, weapons checked, gear strapped down. Porters hefted their empty bags, waiting to be filled. Guards swung the gates open with a groan of rusted hinges.
The city beyond lay in ruins, streets cracked and overgrown, the silence heavy with lurking danger. Somewhere out there were supplies, food, and perhaps death.
Ajay walked with the others, head lowered, sack dragging behind him. To the scavengers, he was just another expendable mule. To Kiran, he was just another fool trapped in the same cage.
But inside, Ajay's lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile.This was exactly what he wanted.
The system demanded blood. The Red Fangs demanded obedience. But Ajay demanded answers.
And the hunt was only just beginning.